Infinity
by zarah joyce
Summary: The aftermath of the final battle between white and black, dark and light. Who will win? DMHG


**Author's Notes: **This is something that just came to me one day… it's quite different from my… ahem, *fluffy* ones, but still… I hope you'd like it… just know that I'm weird, writing stuff like this. Heehee, my bad… ;) I hope it kinda makes sense… and in case any of you are wondering, Chapter Three of Bitter Cold is in the making.

**Infinity**

Time seemed to have stopped its breath, to have forgotten the ways on how to live. Hollow songs of whispers filled with rage and tears flew in the air, and the sound of it, the whistle of it, was entirely deafening. It seemed as though fate also started shedding her tears as she sadly looked upon two figures on the ground, one lying absolutely still, the other holding on like their very essence, their very lives depend on the continuity, the permanence of their hands that were tightly grasping on to each other. Fingers interlocked with one another, palms pressed together, blood to blood, flesh to flesh. They touched like that, were connected, bounded like that. Blood to blood, flesh to flesh. A fusion of life to death, of soul to soul.

"You cannot leave me…" and so sang one of the two, a voice in the void of the earth, its voice soft, mellow, disbelieving, desperate. Its loudness was nothing compared to the echo of death that hovered in the air; it was nothing compared to the grand scheme of silence that reigned over that small mass of land. Bodies littered the ground, bodies that were once more than just the empty vessels, empty crates, that they were now. Death was everywhere, its touch seductive and alluring, sly and comforting. It was all too much; why would one _want_ to continue to breathe if in the cradle of death there was nothing but peace, tranquility? 

Movements soon followed, a flutter of activity, a sign of life. Was that ever a good indication, a positive response?

But no; the one hope of finding another life lifted its wings and fluttered carelessly away… it was _she_, the one who was still living, that made this mere movement; she merely shifted the body that was held so preciously tight against her chest, moved it so that his heart was almost next to hers, echoing her beating with his silence. Tears trekked freely upon her face, wet marks that left a frozen trail on her cheeks as soon as they left the confines of her eyes. Yes, the harsh, cold wind was upon them both; the glacial, rigid wind that would not heed of human emotions, of feelings of loss and pain. What does it know, for the wind has never experienced love as fierce as the flame? The air merely strengthens the fire, touches it, but does it ever experience the luxury, the heat of its tongue? Never. And so it continued to breeze, to dance as though it cared not about anything in the world. It left trails, of course, but these trails were never found, for no one ever cared enough to find them. It was so unlike the moment that was passing between the silent two, so unlike the moment when she was trying to find the trail of his beating heart. And yet, it was also so alike, the wind's trail and his heartbeat, for both were never found… 

"You _cannot_ leave me…!" There were movements again, but their hands had never moved. No. They stayed like that, skin to skin. It was her chest that moved, a breath in her body that blazed so vehemently, released so abruptly... so painfully. That breath of hers rained over his hideously still face, danced over it. He was cold, so cold… his skin was paler than the moonlight, as the coldness of it wormed its way to the very depths of his heart, forced its way to make his body cease its living… he was cold, so very, very cold. Oh! If only she could freely give this breath of hers as easily as she could give her warmth, she thought, her mind uselessly swimming in the depths of stupor and haze. Once more, she hugged his body tighter to hers, and tried to feel the shivers that always come with the intimacy of the contact, tried to impart the heat from her skin to warm his. Hadn't she realized that she had not enough warmth to invigorate her body, much more some other to share, for her _own blood had nearly stopped its flow to those parts of her body that desperately needed some heat? She was cold as well. She hadn't enough blood to flow so much, for most of it had already ended to where their hands, their fingers were entwined, interlocked… blood to blood, the image screamed. Life to life… it stained the fallen ground with its acrid scent, its crimson color, made the hues of their skin so appallingly pale in contrast to the life of it… blood on earth, life on earth, it sang… _

Futile it maybe, she clung to the thought that maybe, just maybe, if she hold him near enough, if she warmed him just enough, he would open his eyes and there would be gray in her world again. It was almost humorous, that when he left, the colors suddenly faded into black and white. There was only the certainty of death, the uncertainty of life, and nothing in between. Where was the inquisitiveness of the in-between, its innocence, its glamour? Gone, just like that… with the fading, the receding of his heart came the sudden death of… of…

Oh, the world was starting to fade into oblivion. Eyes blinked, then blinked again, trying in its damnedest to save the one person, the one face that was ever truly valuable. It was as if she was grasping on to his image as dearly as she was grasping onto his stiff hand, stiff and slick with the mingling of their blood. For the life of her, she cannot save her soul with one incantation, with one simple flick of a magical wood. How could she, when everything else had been lost? The final battle has been fought, the final wager has been waged. Lives that were fought for were the very same lives that were died for. Magic, the only bond that ever connected every gifted being, was suddenly banished, extinguished… good and evil, black and white in a struggle for dominance… and soon nothing else ever lived; no one conquered, no one defeated. There was only…nothing. Nothing but the sudden disappearance of their powers, the only indication that it was _gray_ who won…

Now, it matters not that these two were once at the opposite side of the battle, pawns in the grand game that was the gamble of their lives. Pawns that were merely meant to act as instructed, as they were supposed to… as legionnaires of black and white, light and dark. But what was it in the gray that was so addicting, so enticing? Soon the queen and the bishop were off the board and into the side, off of the two certainties, shoved off to the side that was filled with nothing but in-betweens…

Soon the gray was gone. As soon as he closed his eyes, she knew that the gray was gone. And so that left only the black and the white, the life and the death… what was she to choose? The certainty of the end, the uncertainty of going on?

But then these questions were never truly important, for it was fate who answered for her, for it was death that caught her in its blissful arms. Soon she was swirling, she was dancing, she was one with the wind. Curiously she thought if this was how it had happened to him, but now it doesn't really matter if it did or it did not, for she was now flying, she was now free… she was slowly reaching the throes of infinity… 

… and in that moment she grasped the solidity of his hand, in the gray of infinity she finally found assurance. 


End file.
